


However much you try to fight it

by heyitsamorette (AmoretteHD)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Collars, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hostage Situations, Leashes, M/M, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoretteHD/pseuds/heyitsamorette
Summary: Carl is a hostage at the Sanctuary. One day, he ends up on his knees.





	However much you try to fight it

**Author's Note:**

> Written for VanillaBean's prompt:   
> _Carl's roughed up, arms tied behind his back, on his knees in front of Negan (Carl has a thick leather collar on in this moment and Negan has a leash to it) and Negan pulls Carl up by the leash and is like, "You might try to fight it kid, but you'll be my little bitch one way or another."_

The leather collar is thick and tight around his neck, to the point where every swallow reminds him of its unyielding grasp. 

Negan is grinning down at him. He seems to be genuinely enjoying himself—the fucker. It’s a real toothy grin, a bit lopsided, and it brings dimples to his cheeks. His beard is growing in and it’s a little white here and a little grey there, but that smile is all youthful liveliness. 

“Sorry to tie you up like this, kid, but I can’t trust you not to run away again. You understand, right?”

Carl sucks in a breath and the collar seems to constrict around his throat. It had been a stupid idea to leap for the door. He’d honestly thought Negan wouldn’t notice because he was so preoccupied with that map on the table, but clearly he’d been wrong. Negan notices everything. 

And now, here he is; hands tied behind his back and a collar and leash around his throat— ‘ _Because I can’t trust you for shit_ ’, Negan had said as he’d pushed Carl to his knees and forced his hands behind his back with such little effort, Carl suppressed a shiver at the man’s strength and the ease in which he could physically subdue him. 

“You won’t run away again, will you?” Negan asks him. 

It’s a stupid question because Negan knows the answer: Carl can’t run away now. But he’s still being a dick and asking. 

“Got nothin to say, huh? Well that’s a god damn fucking surprise. Usually the problem’s getting you to stop running your mouth.”

Carl clenches his teeth. He really wants to say something, like _fuck you_ or _go die, you shithead_ , but he suspects the only thing that’ll accomplish is the addition of a gag to this lovely getup. And he sure as hell isn’t going to give Negan the satisfaction of telling him what he wants to hear. So his only option is to set his jaw and say nothing. 

Then, Negan pulls the leash taut, forcing Carl to sit up straighter and tilt his chin up toward him, and he says, "You might try to fight it, kid, but you'll be my bitch one way or another."

Negan’s deep, low voice travels down Carl’s body and sends shivers in its wake. The words cling to him in places he never knew about, places he never thought existed inside him, deep and dark and frenzied.

Carl swallows again, his cheeks burning.

“Do you know what a bitch _is_?” Negan says, emphasizing the word. “Do you know what a bitch _does_?”

It’s hard to glare at someone when you’re looking up at them; but Carl tries his damn best. 

“It’s real simple. A bitch,” Negan says, tilting his head a little, “is a good boy like you, who does whatever I _tell_ him to do.”

Carl’s head starts spinning, feeling too light and too wobbly on his neck. It was probably the collar restraining his breathing. Or was it Negan, who was so close that Carl could make out the crinkles around his eyes? Somehow, though, he knew it was neither of those things.

“Should we practice?” Negan asks. 

“No.” Carl spits it out, too fast, before his brain can tell him not to. 

Negan’s grin reaches his eyes and they take on a dangerous gleam. “Oh, I think we should. I think,” he says, leaning in, “it’ll be fun.”

“I’m not doing any of that,” Carl says, his blood pulsing. It’s so fucking hot in here and he wishes he weren’t wearing this plaid shirt over his t-shirt. And the stupid collar around his neck is so heavy, so cloistering, he can feel himself sweating underneath it. 

Negan’s eyebrows draw together. “Any of what?”

“Of _that_ ,” he forces out through gritted teeth. 

Negan is still for a long moment, until his eyes drift down minutely to the collar encircling Carl’s neck and the leash he holds so tightly in his hand. He must register it then, the way this is. How he’s sitting in the armchair and Carl’s on the floor on his knees. Negan’s legs spread as if of their own accord, and Carl sways further into the v of them. 

The grin is wiped from Negan’s face and all that’s left is an intensity that Carl doesn’t know whether he’s entranced by or scared of—probably a little of both. Negan’s wearing those black gloves and his thumb brushes over the strip of the leash as though mindlessly caressing it; leather on leather. He doesn’t take his eyes off Carl’s, his gaze intent. 

Then without warning, Negan loosens his hold on the leash, giving it some slack, and he sits back in his chair. He blows out a long rush of air which brushes Carl’s face. “Damn…” His voice is even silkier and deeper. “You mean _that_.”

Carl is definitely dizzy now. All his blood is rushing through his body, lighting up his skin hotly, and none of it is staying in his head. He parts his lips and breathes heavily, and wishes Negan would take off the fucking collar before he passes out. He can’t stop looking at the expression on Negan’s face, wondering what exactly he sees in it but also, somehow, being absolutely sure. 

“You know,” Negan continues, “I hadn’t even thought of _that._ ”

Bullshit. How could he not have, when it was the first thing Carl thou—

Carl’s mind spins again, and a sharp burst of anger rips through him. 

“I don’t believe you,” Carl says. “You wanted this to happen.” The words are tumbling out of him and he can’t stop them; they’re spilling over like froth from somewhere in his gut, tasting like poison in his mouth. “You’ve always wanted this, from the moment you saw me. You want me to suck your dick.” He draws in another shaky breath. “It’s the only thing you can think about.”

Negan’s eyebrows shoot up. 

But Carl’s angry—so angry and so hot, he can feel the rage bubbling in his chest and he can’t control it. 

“Isn’t it?” he demands. 

Negan is just looking at him, his whole body tense and unmoving. 

_“Isn’t it?”_

Negan’s legs part a millimeter more, and that’s when Carl looks down. There’s a tent in Negan’s jeans. Carl’s mouth goes bone dry. 

Negan lets go of the leash completely and his hands scramble for his groin. He undoes the button, pulls down the zip, and reaches into the opening. Carl can’t rip his gaze away and moments later, Negan pulls out his dick. That’s when Carl’s breath catches. 

It’s long. That’s the first thing Carl notices—and that it’s hard, standing straight up now that it’s been released from its confines. It’s got girth, and the ridge underneath the pink shaft is clearly visible. Negan barely has a grip on it, he just holds it lightly between his fingers. His voice is gritty when he speaks. 

“Is this what you want?” He runs his fingers down the shaft. Carl can’t help but follow the movement with his gaze. “I think we both know what your little outburst’s really saying… don’t we, Carl?”

“I…” Carl’s voice cracks and he licks his dry lips. His mouth is oddly parched but also about to salivate. He doesn’t want to hear the words coming out of Negan’s mouth; there is something about them that shoots straight through him. 

“Or do you need me to say it?” Negan’s grin becomes as feral as a wolf’s. “ _I_ want it. I want it _so_ bad. Right, kid?”

“Yeah,” Carl says, his voice husky. “Yeah… you do.”

“Well? Since I want it so bad… aren’t you going to give me what I want?

Carl’s body flushes with the need to move, but he hesitates. 

Negan looks at him too knowingly for his liking, and he takes the leash in hand again. “You have no choice,” he says, giving it a tug that jerks Carl forward. 

He… he doesn’t. He’s the one with the collar wrapped around his neck, isn’t he? And Negan’s the one with all the control. He always is, that’s what gets Negan off, being in control. He wants Carl to suck his dick and that’s what he’s gonna get; of course he is. Negan always gets what he wants. 

That’s why Carl has no choice. He has to take Negan’s dick in his mouth. 

So he leans forward, and because that’s difficult to do with his hands tied behind his back, he all but falls onto Negan’s groin, his shoulder slamming into the hard edge of Negan’s knee and making Carl wince. 

He tries to sit up again but, weirdly, Negan leaps on top of him— no, not leaps. It takes Carl a confused moment to realize Negan is actually reaching around him to access his tied hands. His entire body envelopes Carl, soaking his senses in Negan’s scent. Leather and spicy cigar tobacco and the faintest hint of male body odor, which should be disgusting but somehow it’s not and it makes Carl’s dick ache in his jeans, and he inhales _deeply_. In one manic moment, Carl thinks of the circle of Negan’s arms as an embrace. 

But Negan’s already pulling away, which is a good thing because Carl needs fresh air to get his brain in order. And then he realizes his hands are freed. 

It’s a lot easier to steady himself with one hand on each of Negan’s thighs. He digs his fingers into the muscle, his nails scraping against black denim, trying to make Negan wince. But Negan’s face is infuriatingly in control and slightly smirking, so he’s going to have to try a different way. He wants more than anything to make Negan lose his easy composure—a little bit of his power—he knows he can, he just has to try. 

Negan’s cock is inches from Carl’s face. Negan puts the slightest pressure on the leash, reminding Carl that he has to do this. 

Has to open his mouth. Has to let his eye flutter shut as he leans into that musky scent. Has to press his lips against the hot, soft, rounded head. 

His heart races frantically at his first taste of dick. It’s something he’s never thought he’d ever know, the unique flavor of it. The feel of it against his tongue, how it’s both soft _but so hard_ at the same time, a strange and particular feeling.

Negan makes a soft grunting noise above him and it pulls Carl out of his dazed exploration. He wants to mouth at the head a bit longer and play with it, learn what it feels like over every inch of his tongue, but he knows Negan wants more so he opens his mouth wider. 

He takes more of him into his mouth. His lips drag along the silky soft shaft, and sooner than he anticipated, his throat is attacked by an intrusion that’s way too big, and Carl can’t help the sense of panic that assaults him. 

Carl pulls off, coughing furiously. Negan chuckles, showing dimples again. 

“Careful, kid. I never said to choke on my dick. Although… that’s not a terrible idea.”

Carl glares at him, his cheeks warm and likely flushed pink. Negan’s cocky grin does things to him that he can’t even figure out the words for. It’s infuriating. 

Negan takes his shaft in hand and gives it a little wobble. “Maybe this is just too much for you.”

“No.” Carl levies him with an are-you-kidding-me look. 

“Oh? Well excuse the hell out of me, but I didn’t know you were already a bonafide cocksucker. My bad.”

“I’m not a—” He can’t even say the words; they make his stomach tingle. 

Negan lets out a soft, low chuckle from deep in his throat. “So?” he says, letting go of his cock and letting it stand straight up. 

Carl runs his tongue over his lips to wet them and help with the slide, and he takes Negan’s cock between them again, pressing down to take in as much as he can. He is able to take an inch more this time, or so it seems, before it hits the back of his throat. He makes an effort to ignore his urge to gag, letting the head press into the tight opening of his throat. It feels impossible. It stings and brings tears to his eye. And then all the sudden he feels the need to throw up and he pulls off, swallowing to keep it down and then gasping for air. His eye is wetter than he realized and he blinks away the blinding moisture. 

Negan is shifting in his seat, letting out a hard exhale through his nose. 

Carl decides to try a new tactic and leans down. He starts at Negan’s balls, poking his tongue into the crevice where balls and shaft meet. The musky smell is stronger here and it assaults him, but it’s not bad, not in the least; in fact, it’s kind of intoxicating. Then, sticking his tongue out fully, he licks a stripe up the underside of the shaft, dragging it up Negan’s hard length and stopping when he reaches the tip. Negan squirms and makes a growling sound in the back of his throat. 

It’s a rush to have any sort of effect on Negan—the man who is always in control. And Carl is able to unravel him. The knowledge surges up his arms along his every nervepath and makes his fingertips tingle, and he tightens his grip on Negan’s thighs. 

He seems to get the hang of it now and falls into a rhythm. He takes the shaft into his mouth shallowly, bobbing up and down a little before returning to drawing his tongue over the outside, alternating back and forth, over and over. Negan makes guttural, approving moans and slides a hand into Carl’s hair, letting it rest there, a heavy weight atop his head. A reminder. And Carl’s cock is just _straining_ against his jeans. 

He doesn’t dare reach down to unbutton them because this shouldn’t be turning him on. He can’t give himself away to Negan—he ignores the little voice that tells him Negan already knows. 

Before long, the hand on top of his head is applying too much pressure, and Carl can’t lift himself off Negan’s cock. He can’t take the cock out of his mouth, he’s stuck there, with Negan’s fingers gripping his hair while he pushes Carl down, forcing him to stay like that. Carl’s panic makes him flinch, and Negan’s other hand grabs his wrist punishingly. 

With no way to swallow his gathering saliva, it starts to dribble out of Carl’s mouth in messy stripes of drool that fall down Negan’s shaft. Carl tries to lick them up, sticking his tongue out around the girth of it and past his bottom lip, but it just makes it worse. He tries to say something but the vibrations of his voice only intensify the pleasure Negan feels, and he moans above him. Carl shuts his eye and lets him push further into his throat, because what else can he do? He gags and he thinks he might actually throw up this time. 

But then Negan stops moving. He lets out a grunt as he reaches the edge. A stream of hot, salty come begins to fill Carl’s mouth, partly choking him and partly oozing out around his lips. 

That’s when Negan finally lets releases his hold on Carl’s hair. Carl pulls away, gasping for breath. It takes a few moments for his heart to stop beating so fast and so hard against his chest and for his breathing to return to normal again. Still, he’s panting, and he starts to notice the sticky feeling of Negan’s come and his own saliva intermingling and drying on his chin. 

Negan is staring at him through unfocused eyes, his pupils blown as wide as the smile across his face. 

“Shit, kid,” he breathes, his own chest rising and falling to mimic Carl’s. “Was that really your first time doing that?”

Carl blinks at him, unsure how to feel. His mind feels numb but there’s something stirring in his chest, hot and heavy and uncomfortable.

“There’s really no way I’m gonna let you go now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [@heyitsamorette](https://heyitsamorette.tumblr.com/)


End file.
